"Imposter, it's time for you to leave!"

Phoebe Dawson stood at the gate of the Fletcher family's mansion, packing her belongings.

Leaning against the doorframe was the woman who had called her daughter for eighteen years, her face adorned with a deceitful smile. "What are you dawdling for? It'll be dark soon. Don't tell me you're reluctant to leave," Juliet sneered.

Phoebe didn't even bother to glance at her, silently organizing her things instead.

Suddenly, a frail figure emerged from the house. Bianca Fletcher's skin had a sallow hue, her face gaunt, clearly a sign of malnutrition. Her large, doe eyes, paired with a pitiful expression, made her words even more heart-wrenching. "Mom, maybe I should go back to the orphanage. It's because of me that Phoebe has to leave. Even though life there is tough, I promise to visit you often!" Her eyes welled up with tears, her voice trembling.

At these words, Juliet's impatience vanished, replaced by a look of adoration. "Sweetheart, you're my real daughter. She's just an outsider. Besides, her biological parents have found her. It's only natural she should go back."

Phoebe watched the girl named Bianca with a cold gaze.

This true heiress, raised in an orphanage, had charmed the director with sweet words and stayed on to care for the children after graduating high school. No one would have ever discovered that Phoebe wasn't a Fletcher child. That is, until recently, when Mr. Fletcher fell ill and, in a moment of confusion, believed the nonsense of a quack about "changing fate through blood transfusion." That's when they found out Phoebe's blood type didn't match!

Phoebe possessed an exceedingly rare blood type, P, which made it biologically impossible for her to be their child. Although she wasn’t their biological daughter, her blood was incredibly valuable. Mr. Fletcher, her adoptive father, had secretly listed her blood sample on the black market in hopes of making a trade. Unexpectedly, this move backfired, as the Dawson family caught wind of it and came knocking on their door, demanding to take Phoebe back.

The P blood type was even rarer than the RH-negative type, with only a handful of people in the entire country possessing it. This blood type was unique to the Dawson family lineage. Upon learning of Phoebe’s existence, the Dawson family wasted no time in sending someone to retrieve her, putting an abrupt end to the blood-selling fiasco.

However, the Fletcher family was far from pleased with this turn of events, and their words grew increasingly bitter. Fortunately, they had managed to reunite with their biological daughter, which somewhat softened the blow. Unable to bear the sight of the mother and daughter putting on a show of affection, Phoebe grabbed her suitcase and prepared to leave.

"Wait, sis," Bianca called out to her. "I heard your real family isn’t well off. Three older brothers still single, and an older sister and a younger sister too. It’s not going to be easy going back. Let me help you pack some extra things." As she spoke, she began rummaging through the wardrobe.

Finding nothing of value there, she turned her attention to the desk drawers. "Don’t forget your jewelry. You can always pawn it if you’re short on cash."

Hearing this, Phoebe let out a soft sigh. "Stop pretending. You just want to check if I’ve taken anything valuable. Don’t worry, I haven’t touched a thing. Besides, your parents never bought me anything expensive in the first place."

Juliet, overhearing the conversation, rolled her eyes. "Oh, please! As if we’ve mistreated you! You say you’re not taking anything, but what’s in that suitcase of yours?"

Juliet’s tone struck a nerve with Phoebe.

Reluctantly, to avoid future entanglements, she laid her suitcase flat and unzipped it. Despite their claims of indifference, the mother and daughter immediately crowded around to peek inside. Upon seeing the contents, they both took a step back in unison.

Phoebe began to unpack the items one by one: "A mirror, a tortoise shell, a copper coin sword, talisman papers, and cinnabar." Her voice softened as she reached the last item. "And my master's memorial tablet." She carefully wiped the tablet clean and reverently placed it back.

Juliet could no longer maintain her forced smile and shrieked, "How many times have I told you not to bring such unlucky things into the house! Your father is sickly now, and it's definitely because of these cursed objects of yours! You keep saying he’s going to lose money, and I’m going to lose things—are you deliberately trying to bring us bad luck?"

After tidying up the suitcase, Phoebe sighed in resignation. "All these years, I’ve used my own blessings to help you avoid disasters. Instead of being grateful, you think I’m cursing you." She paused, then added, "Think what you want. I’m done explaining."

Not wanting to waste any more words on them, Phoebe grabbed her suitcase and headed downstairs. Since middle school, the Fletcher family had treated her harshly, so she had chosen to live on campus, supporting herself without relying on their money and rarely returning home. As for the idea of reconnecting with the Dawson family, she hadn’t held much hope. She had cast a divination, and the result was "a dried-up lake, trapped in a marsh."

This meant that the great river was about to dry up, and the small ponds would inevitably suffer the same fate. In reality, it implied that her biological parents might face troubles, and as a family member, she would be dragged into the mess as well. Even though she held no expectations for familial affection, she knew she had to return.

Just as she was about to open the door to leave, a voice dripping with arrogance suddenly rang out from behind her. "It's settled. Someone is willing to pay a high price for your blood. If you agree, I can get the blood I need," Mr. Fletcher declared, his tone condescending. "If you cooperate, you can still be my daughter, Phoebe Fletcher, and you won’t have to suffer in the countryside with that Dawson family."

Phoebe turned around, her words deliberate and firm. "Mr. Fletcher, I must remind you that selling blood on the black market is illegal!"

Mr. Fletcher flew into a rage, slamming his teacup to the ground and lunging toward her as if to strike. "You ungrateful wretch! I raised you for eighteen years, and now you won’t even do this small thing for me? You heartless beast!"

Phoebe’s gaze sharpened abruptly, her eyes blazing with fury as she stared him down. Her presence was so commanding that it sent a chill down his spine. Mr. Fletcher froze as if nailed to the spot, unable to move.

With a grave expression, Phoebe spoke in a heavy tone, "Mr. Fletcher, the root of your current predicament lies in the fact that you destroyed someone’s ancestral grave during construction. Unless you resolve this issue, no amount of help will save you."

At these words, Bianca, who had been lingering on the staircase, exploded with anger and rushed down. "Sister, if you’re not going to help, fine, but why say such ominous things? Dad is the backbone of our family! He’s not well, and we should be focusing on how to cure him!"

Seeing Bianca’s exaggerated display, Phoebe couldn’t hold back any longer. She turned around, a mocking smile playing on her lips. "Oh, so you’re such a filial daughter? Why don’t you sell your blood to help him then?"

Bianca was stunned by the remark, her face flushing crimson. She stammered, "Im-immediate family members can't donate blood, otherwise I would have done it in a heartbeat!"

Phoebe raised an eyebrow slightly, "Who said anything about donating blood? I'm just suggesting you sell your blood on the black market. It doesn't matter who you sell it to."

Bianca's face turned ashen, and she was left speechless, her head bowed as she began to sob.

At that moment, Juliet descended the stairs, muttering curses under her breath, "Phoebe, how can you be so ungrateful! We've raised you for eighteen years! Weiwei has suffered so much outside, her health is so fragile, and you want her to sell her blood? Are you trying to kill her?"

As she spoke, she pulled the sobbing Bianca into her arms, glaring at Phoebe with venomous eyes.

Phoebe shook her head dismissively, "Bianca isn't frail; her sunken temples suggest a chaotic private life. She'll wear herself out sooner or later at this rate."

Bianca sprang up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, "That's a lie!"

Phoebe picked up her suitcase and headed for the door, not looking back as she said, "Time will tell the truth."

Mr. Fletcher, seething with anger, raised his hand to slap Phoebe.

Phoebe deftly sidestepped, but unexpectedly, a figure appeared behind her, swiftly catching Mr. Fletcher's raised hand.

Mr. Fletcher's face immediately contorted in pain, his brows furrowed tightly.

He tried to pull his hand back, but it was immovable as if clamped in a vice.

Gritting his teeth in pain, he managed to ask, "Who the hell are you? How did you get in?"

Phoebe turned around to find a seemingly amiable middle-aged man standing behind her, who had appeared out of nowhere.

The man was dressed in a finely tailored traditional Versace suit, exuding an air of scholarly refinement.

His piercing gaze behind the gold-rimmed glasses was as sharp as ever, and the grip of his hand didn’t loosen in the slightest. It wasn’t until Mr. Fletcher cried out in pain that he gradually released his hold. The fierce intensity that had radiated from him moments ago vanished without a trace, replaced by a warm, gentle smile.

He turned his attention to Phoebe, his eyes narrowing slightly behind the glasses. "Good day, Miss. Phoebe," he said in a calm, polite tone. "I’m Mr. Callum. The Dawson family has sent me to escort you home."